MAD MAX: Broken Road
by Master of Minions
Summary: To forgive is wisdom, to forget is genius. - Joyce Cary. Curiosity is a daring thing, and not knowing what the future holds for a woman traveling alone in a world that has been turned on it's head is quite an enticing subject. Memory loss, marauders and murderers, and lets not forget that handsome devil Mad Max. What sort of misadventures might plague our characters?


_Greetings and salutations fellow readers and writers! This here is, like many others, a work of boredom and an over active imagination. So enjoy! As well as be a wee-bit patient on __account of our dear ole Max's late entry into the story._

_**Prologue**_

A name, the sound that is recognized and deemed as a suitable word to describe a person, place or thing… If we want to get technical with it, and quite possibly smacked upside the head for talking nonsense, you could say noun. Now a days most folks have thrown "proper speak" to the four winds, or have simply forgotten and don't care enough to look into it, not that there are very many books left after what happened. Still, every thing has a name with which it is called by. Man. Woman. Girl. Boy. Dog. Cat. Dirt. Rock. Water. Food… and blah, blah, blah. You get my point.

So here's the deal, a while back I had a run in with a brood of rather uncomely characters as I was out scavenging for whatever left overs I could find and lets just say we didn't get off too well. Long story short, I was left for dead, this of course after being beaten senseless among other gruesome and unpleasant things I don't care to remember and don't doubt happened, not that I could recall what occurred anyway. From what I can gather from fogged over flashes of memory at being called sweet cheeks and the current way I subconsciously shy away from crowbars, that's even when they're sitting untouched, I was assaulted with said object a couple times to the head. Imagine if you will, the feeling of waking up about six weeks later with no memory of who you are. No name, no history, though there is a slight chance I was a teacher or something by the way I remember the strangest of things, like say, the proper use of the English language or random quotes from people that I'm assuming were important at some point… even then that is somewhat farfetched. On the other hand, I could be some sort of ex military secretary reject with the mad skills I pull, but that is unlikely as well. I'm thinking too highly of myself, probably just another nobody like every other loon that now roams this desolate heap of a planet. It doesn't matter now; actually kind of appreciative of the fact I can't remember how this rock took a one-way ticket to Hell with the human race at the wheel.

Now, to get back on track, you all are probably wondering at this point, "Who the hell would take the time to stop and help a woman lyin' out in the middle of nowhere on the verge of boarding the ferry to cross the River Sticks?" Well, that is a very good question to which I have no answer, but I can tell you about whose doorstep they dumped me oh-so unceremoniously.

She went by the name of Trudy, an older woman with the personality of a pit viper. I spent the better part of a year with her and a couple other crude persons, they didn't last long on account of Trudy offing them for "unfavorable behavior" and claiming, "I never cared for them bastards much anyways." I didn't argue in the least, and I hoped to whatever higher power out there that I had luck enough to end up on her short list of people she did care for… Let me tell ya, it was a very short list consisting of her self and a camel that I'm pretty sure had it out for me.

After about what felt like a year and a half of living with Miss Trudy in her little hovel hidden in the crevasses of an outcropping of sandstone, fighting off the occasional group of baddies, I decided it was time to move on. What with crazy viper lady going senile and threatening to kill me every other day, though I will give it to the woman for being such a bad ass in her later years, nearly scared the piss outta me a couple times. To which she would say, after realizing who I was, "Its good for ya, girly! Keeps ya on yer toes! You forgetful git."

… I won't even bother going into what that demon spawn of a camel attempted to do to me on a daily, even hourly, basis… The bastard.

Little Miss T had about a million nicknames for me, most not at all flattering. During the first few months I couldn't keep more than a dozen thoughts in my head at a time, often repeating myself which caused quite a bit of yelling and cursing from Trudy's end and getting me cowed down to the point of hiding from the crazy old hag. She'd always find me though, which was eerily unsettling and oddly comforting, though I'd never admit that to her face. To her credit she did try sticking a couple actual names to me, but not a single one ever quite fit right and so she'd forget and resume in calling me by whatever fit her fancy at the time. One of her favorites was afore mentioned "forgetful git", a few others would be girly or woman even Blondie on occasion, these used more often than not in an exclamatory fashion, and of course practically everyone's go to, bitch. There are quite a few more, but I'll let the imagination take the wheel and put the intricacies into the ironic poetic color and bite of those lovely little beasties.

With our "fair thee wells" exchanged, if you can call 'em that, they went along the lines of…

"HEY! Trudy!" I pause for a reply.

"WHAT?!" This echoed from the interior of the viper lady's domain.

"I'm leaving you and your damned camel! And I doubt I'll be comin' back!"

There was a long pause that then was filled with the loud gurgling groan of said camel, pretty sure if that thing could talk it would be saying, "FINALLY!"

"Alright, girly. If that'd be what ya want, be gone with ya!"

With that I turned my sorry self away from the cave entrance, but before I get even ten feet away I hear the old bag hollering at me again.

"WHAT!?" I holler back.

"I SAID, WATCH YER ASS! YOU SORRY EXCUSE OF A DONK!"

"I will, not gonna be caught unawares again if I can help it!"

"GOOD! You're a pretty tart, I'll give ya that, and I wouldn't want nothin' more ta happen to ya!"

"Take care of yourself you old snake!" I replied as I turned to go for the last time.

"DON'T I ALWAYS!"

And that'd be the last I ever heard of Miss Trudy... and her damn camel.


End file.
